Beginning the Origin of T-99
by ajwoloshin
Summary: The Timoshenko program (my OC) was created in the 1950s through a joint Hydra/Soviet team to recreate the results of the super-soldier serum to create Captain America. The "T" program lasted through the entire Cold War with high mortality rates for test subjects and artificial creations. This is the first part in a series about the origin of my MURPG character T-99. Feedback please


**Part I**

"You cannot do this!" Dr. Trimbach screams pitifully in his awful German accented Russian at Lieutenant Colonel Antipov, making the native Russian sneer in revulsion as he oversaw the Hydra soldiers clearing out the good doctor's office. "You'll find that I absolutely can." the Lieutenant Colonel states flatly, taking a great step across the dank, concrete office to tower over the smaller doctor, the intensity of the Russian stare seems to crush him. The doctor looks away in fear, feigning to clean his glasses, a smirk pulls on the scars crossing Antipov's cheeks, and he turns back to the door. "You see, Hydra command has determined that your work here is…expendable. Your results have been inconsistent and you have exceeded your budget every year for the last ten years." Giving a dismissive wave of his hand, Antipov steps out of the door "Goodbye Doctor Trimbach, you will be receiving your reassignment orders presently."

"But!" the doctor blurts out, rushing behind his desk, frantically searching for something. The Lieutenant Colonel's eyes narrowing to slits as he turns to see what kind of ploy could this be to save his ruin of a program. Trimbach, after nearly spending Antipov's last bit of patience, timidly approaches him with a thick file labelled "T-100". "Look! Look at it!" the doctor insists as he pushes the file in front of Antipov's face, "We have done it! All of our efforts have led to this, to him." the doctor spoke the last word as if in reverence. Antipov snatches the file with his calloused hand, taking a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and looking over the file while giving an exasperated sigh. He flips through the pages, at first appearing to be bored, mumbling the numbers and statistics giving the occasional "that's better" or "interesting" all while the Hydra soldiers clear out the doctor's office. Eventually the office is bare except for Antipov and Trimbach, the lieutenant colonel closes the file with a grin that makes Trimbach cringe internally "congratulations Doctor Trimbach, you have indeed created exactly what we asked for."

Extending a hand while holding the file under his arm, a wave of relief rushes over the doctor's face as he takes the handshake, "twenty years ago." Antipov growls as he crushes the German's hand and pulls him close, Trimbach's face turning white from pain and fear. "It is 1985! If you wanted to save yourself and this fossil of a program you should have kept to your budget and timetable! Hydra command has had enough of excuses and promises. All your influence is gone, all your money is gone, and all of our faith in you is gone." He shoves the doctor in the chest with his handshake, letting Trimbach fall hard enough to push the antique back almost a foot. Looking down on the doctor in disgust "This facility will be left with a skeleton crew of caretakers to keep your… creations, alive." Antipov says with disgust "Hydra doesn't like to waste a resource, especially one that cost so much. Let that give you some solace that maybe your work will help us someday." Antipov squatting down next to the doctor, and in a low hiss "Maybe this all could have gone away if you had listened to me years ago, but I'm going to make sure all your freaks find friendly fire to die in front of." Standing up and righting his uniform "You will be reassigned to the genetics division in Sãn Paulo. Good day Herr Doctor." Turning sharply on his heels the Lieutenant Colonel exits the office with the file tucked under his arm.

Doctor Trimbach runs his fingers through his thinning hair, letting a few hot tears fall into his lap as he takes a tarnished silver cigarette case emblazoned with a swastika from his lab coat. Lighting one of his last German cigarettes, and takes a long draw on it. Hands quivering, he pulls four folded Polaroids from the other pocket of his coat. He flips through them, speaking quietly to himself in German "All of you, you are the survivors of this great journey towards perfection. The only things I might call a legacy, and now left to rot and rust in this hole." He looks at each photo longingly, touching each while speaking to them as if in mourning.

"T-67, the first assassin android, complete with camouflage and rebuilding protocols. Too expensive they told me." The picture is of a human shape made from metal, with interlocking pipes and wiring everywhere, its face a mixture of an insect and a nightmare with "T-67" machined onto its forehead, and its body filled with all manner of weapons from blades to a grenade launcher. Looking at the next photo: "T-73, the only survivor of blending my Timoshenko program with the Black Widow's. You are so beautiful, the daughter that I can never have. If only the prick heading the Black Widow program could have seen past your "flaws" you could have had so many sisters, I failed you, but at least they have use for you so you will not rot here like your siblings." He stares at the picture of a black suited woman, arms unnaturally long with multiple joints, a face full of scars and entirely black eyes with T-73 emblazoned on her chest. The next has the deepest creases, "T-99, so promising but just inches from what they desired. I spent so long hoping you would improve, probably too long and perhaps…it would have saved this program, but it was not meant to be. I could not even bear to wake you from your tank, so you would not have to bear that shame." He holds onto the picture of a massive man floating in a tank of a strange, off-putting fluid, tubes and wires coming from his skin and "T-99" tattooed across his chest. Then the last picture, pride in his eyes. "and you, T-100, my magnum opus and my last creation. You are perfect in every way, from your blue eyes to your regeneration you are as close as we will ever come to seeing a Hydra super soldier like Captain America. I hope I get to live to see your inevitable successes." In the picture stands a hulk of a man covered in bullet holes, some of which are already scarring over, the head of a tank in one hand and lifting a truck with the other, and "T-100" can be made out on his chest.

He stares at the pictures for a long while, but his contemplation is cut short by two Hydra soldiers invading his office. "We've come to collect you, Doctor." There is no impression that this is a request, the assault rifles in their hands pointed down but still gripped tightly. "Very well." Trimbach says as he sighs getting up, gripping his chest where the Lieutenant Colonel shoved him. Stuffing the photos and cigarette case into his pockets as he gives the room one last look. Trimbach gives another sigh and sullenly walks with his escort through his facility, watching Hydra tear everything he built apart.


End file.
